"And,
Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the
echoing domes, ah ! then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore
glint in the polished walls ; and the light glows through folded marbles,
shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are
columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into
dreamlike forms ; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the
glistening pendants of the roof : wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds ;
spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces ! Still lakes mirror them: a
glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass ; cities,
such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on
through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light
can come. And plink ! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass
make all the towers bend an waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea.
Then evening comes : they fade and twinkle out ; the torches pass on into
another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas ;
hall opening out of hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair ; and still the
winding paths lead on into the mountains' heart. Caves ! The Caverns of Helm's
Deep ! Happy was the chance that drove me there ! It makes me weep to leave
them."